Fragmented Memories
by Speckless Nougat
Summary: A different perspective on Mother Gothel. Who was she really? Rated T for adult/distressing situations.
1. Prologue

**A/N:**** I've wanted to write another Tangled fanfic for quite a while. Also I've had this story going round in my head for several months, but I want to include so much in it that I wasn't sure if it was going to be overly long or boring. But I'm going to give it a try :) Character interpretation is down to me, and in the first few chapters certainly Gothel is going to seem out of character. This based on the fact that she's one of the only Disney villains who seem to be more than "I'm such a bad-ass and proud of it" type person xD In the beginning at least, what was she guilty of? Wanting another chance at life? This story will attempt to follow her from before, up to and after that point and her gradual descent into the more selfish creature we see in the film. Not related in any way to my earlier one-shot, 'Clean Slate'. Also I will try to be historically accurate where I can. Please R&R if you have the time ^^**

**Rated T for content.**

**Fragmented Memories**

**PROLOGUE**

A stone.

Smooth and oval in shape, she had spent hours scouring the woodlands for the right one. It had to be just so; the same as the picture of the one she had in her mind.

She was young and beautiful; a girl of three-and-twenty, with raven hair that naturally coiled into a cascade of ringlets down her back, an acquisition that her peers envied. With olive skin and red lips that had no need for artificial staining, it was easy to see why she would be either hated or admired; there was never a comfortable in-between.

But the fortunate bequeathing of natural beauty would do nothing to help her now; nothing could ease this terrible pain.

She had focused on finding that stone to save herself from thinking too much.

She had eventually found it in a small glade at the foot of an abandoned turret. There had once been a small castle there, she'd been told, but after the residing family had relocated it had been left to it's own devices; there were signs of its presence – the water that still filled the moat, stopping it from naturally closing itself up, the ruins of a dovecote and coach house a little further into the clearing, but the only part that was still recognizable, that gave a hint to the grandeur that had once been in residence was the lone tower that stood in the centre.

It too was looking uncared for. They said a building that was unlived in often fell into disrepair, that the spirits were unhappy that no-one cared for it any more. Isobel had never believed in that sort of thing, but it was strange that the tower had been the only piece of the castle to survive, especially as she knew it was used as sort of play-house by many local children; long ago, she had been one of them.

Back when she had friends.

Isobel Gothel and her companions had spent many hours in the forest; their parents had been unperturbed – they were working-class people and spent their days toiling, her father in the fields, her mother struggling to sell their produce at the market – they had been only too glad to get their children off their hands for a short time. She'd never been back to the tower since that last dreadful day. The day that they finally managed to loosen the bricks and open the tower door for the first time.

These long buried memories were not helping Isobel. They were making her feel worse. She blinked furiously, pushing back the tears that pricked her eyelids, threatening to drop onto the velvet of her dress. She was no longer poor; she had married well, as she had been determined to do ever since she could remember. She was certain love would have nothing to do with who she married, but she had actually been lucky enough to win herself a man whom she truly did care for as person, as well as a source of good living. Certainly he was in trade, but what did it matter? She could easily ignore the comments from the upper classes, who had been fortunate enough to have been born into wealth and stability, and not had to battle to keep body and soul together.

Her hands closed around one stone at the foot of the tower. It was hidden by thick grass and clumps of moss, spring flowers poking their tiny buds out from around the object. It was of pale grey, smooth in texture, a tiny fossil on one side. It could well have been just a flaw in the surface, but a fossil seemed more romantic to Isobel.

_Romantic._

How she could be thinking of such things when she had this deed to perform, she didn't know. She picked the stone up, leaving the soft green moss attached to its surface, and placed it carefully in the large basket, next to the bundle.

The bundle comprised of her best green dress, woven of fine silk her husband had brought back on one of his trips overseas. Isobel's mother had crafted the dress as a wedding present. It had been the last thing she had expected; her parents had barely had a word to say to her in the last seven years. Her mother had always been the softer of the two, and as a child Isobel had been very close to her, despite all the hours she spent selling the eggs, milk and vegetables that they had cultivated on their small piece of farmland. The dress had meant so much to Isobel, but for this, she was willing to sacrifice it.

She took the dress carefully out of the basket, feeling the shape inside, making her blood run cold down her back. She carried it behind the tower, where she had previously dug a hole in the ground. She fervently laid the bundle in the shallow pit; trying not to let her sorrow get the better of her.

_It's an everyday occurrence, _she thought to herself, _death during childbirth or early infancy is common._

It _was_ common; she had heard of such things before and had thought, "_What a terrible shame." _After that she had all but forgotten it.

But those times were different.

Those times, it had not been her baby.


	2. Adde parvum parvo magnus acervus erit

**A/N: In an archive of 2.9K stories, I was hoping mine wouldn't be too similar to anyone else's. But I sifted through some of the first pages and I found that **_**'Tangled Untold'**_** by **_**xlilslayerx**_ **has some similar themes, and some of my ideas for later chapters seem to run in a similar vein. If the author has any complaints or is unhappy as my fic progresses, please PM me so we can discuss it. Thank you ^^ **

**Forgive me if this chapter is a little short. As this is planned to be a fairly long story, I'm posting in smaller chapters than I would normally; it's easier for me to keep track of :D Thanks to my reviewers, it's greatly appreciated! **

**I: ****adde parvum parvo magnus acervus erit **

** Add A Little To a Little and There Will Be A Great Heap**

Like most of us, when Isobel Aravena finally reached adulthood, she realized it wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

Had she been born male, no doubt things would have been different; but she hadn't. At fourteen she was expected to marry and marry well (though not too well, her mother had always stipulated, as she shouldn't be getting ideas above her station).

As it was, she had married a tradesman in the form of Edward Gothel, and it certainly hadn't won her any housepoints with her peers. Edward had moved to their small village as a young apprentice to his father's business when Isobel was just thirteen. He could have had his fair share of the maidens, certainly; with hazel eyes and thick chestnut hair with the stature of a man instead of the boy he was, he was hardly unpleasant to look at.

On his arrival, Isobel had feigned swooning to keep in with the girls she labelled her friends. Truth be told, the older ones would soon have stabbed her in the back if meant finding a decent suitor.

Everyone had their own set of problems.

Perhaps it was the fact that Isobel's eyes belied her actions that drew Edward Gothel to her so much. He loved a challenge, and when it came to maidens and their hearts he thought himself quite accomplished. Seeing that Isobel Aravena was not at all interested in him made him all the more determined to win her over.

Isobel Gothel, as she was now named, had often berated herself for allowing him into her life, to entrance her. She had not realized at the time that he was a person who immediately lost interest once the quest was conquered. If she's possessed the power to envisage the future, she'd have stayed an old maid (despite her mother's horror at that) and looked after Thomas.

Especially as allowing Edward into her life had helped lead to such dreadful consequences.

* * *

><p><em>The decisions we make so lightly can lead to such drastic situations,<em> Isobel mused. Something ridiculous, like whether you should sneak off to have fun and lie about where you're going, well, surely that can affect only yourself. If you get into trouble, at least you're not hurting anyone else.

_Don't be so sure_.

The chain of events which would eventually lead to Isobel's demise began, at least in her own mind, on the day that Thomas was first old enough to accompany her out with her group of friends when she was ten years old.

Thomas was already five, and yet he was a slow learner. He had only recently accomplished the art of walking and talking fluently, much to his parents' dismay. Isobel had heard their neighbours whisper cruel, unkind words about him; words like '_cur_' and '_lumpish_'. Such words aimed at her harmless brother filled Isobel with rage; Fists clenched, she had delivered a fine torrent of insults in return. She had received a sound whipping for it later, but she didn't care, even though Thomas cried on her behalf.

Huddled up close in Isobel's makeshift bed later that night, she'd stroked her brother's dark hair absently. She'd always admired how gentle and empathetic he was; even before he could talk, he would often sit in Isobel's lap while she told him a story.

"I don't know why you bother,' her father had mentioned coldly on catching her. 'It's not as if he understands any of it."

Isobel knew her father was wrong. He was embittered that he didn't have a strapping young son who would grow to be able to help him out in his difficult work; and for that she could maybe forgive him, but she knew when she told her stories and Thomas's eyes lit up that he understood every word. In Isobel's eyes, Thomas was perfect. He didn't scream in public or throw stones at birds or try and pull up girl's skirts, like many of the other young boys in the village. He could hardly say boo to a goose; these gentle qualities meant that many of the girls made a pet of him, though that brought with it ridicule from the boys.

All good things have their dark side.

It was also clear that, despite her father's obvious disapproval of his youngest offspring, that Thomas was his mother's favourite. Once he could finally walk he would follow her around, clinging to the dull brown material of her woven skirts. Isobel couldn't begrudge Thomas that position.

After all, he was her favourite too.

As Isobel grew older it was naturally expected that she should look after him more. With her father toiling the farmland and her mother struggling to make a meagre profit from their own small produce at the market, neither of them had the time devote to Thomas; time that he so obviously needed.

Instead it was Isobel who would spend hours, toiling in her own way, as she strove to teach her brother letters and numbers using a twig as a pen in the dirt at the back of their cottage. She had attended little school herself. Her parents simply could not afford it, and when Thomas had come along unexpectedly it was decided she would sooner have her youngest daughter at home to assist her with the running of the household while she was nursing the new baby.

_What would a woman DO with an education anyway_?

The way Isobel had learned to read was unorthodox, but it had been successful. Their neighbours' daughter had fancied herself a schoolteacher, and had a habit of rounding up the youngest in the village to recite their alphabet and basic numbers. She also liked to slap little hands with a stick as a makeshift cane, and Isobel, though already a bright child, had always thought that this was what had prompted her to learn quickly.

Isobel employed no such tactics with Thomas. It was a losing battle; he'd cry if she even raised her voice to him, and she knew it could be a challenge getting him to stop. Still, under her guidance he had managed to scratch out a crooked 'abc'. He had looked at her out of the corner of his eye; when he was alone with his sister, it was easy to spot that rogue twinkle. The one that always led to the same conversation.

"Isobel."

"..."

"When will you take me?"

"When you're older."

"I'm older now."

"But you only asked yesterday."

"Yes. I'm a whole day older now."

"But that's not old enough."

"Oh. Well, what about tomorrow?"

Isobel wished she hadn't been quite so forthcoming in telling Thomas about the abandoned castle in the woods near their village. The village children had been wanting to turn it into a play-den; a place where they could get away from the adults, the girls wanting to play princesses in the abandoned tower, the boys wanting to practice 'swordfights' with large, broken branches.

'And rumour has it..." Gade Poth, the pastor's son, delighted in telling gruesome stories. Isobel had smirked. _If his father could've heard him._ "...that more than a hundred years ago, a young woman jumped to her death from the turret window, mourning her lost love."

It had been a balmy evening in July. The children who were not yet any use to their parents were outside, sitting in a small cluster, telling each other stories. It was in this way that the castle had found itself at the centre of the conversation; at that time, Isobel remembered, there was more to it than just the lone tower she would revisit later in her long existence.

"Ignore Gade, you know he's always engaging in some sort of fantasy."

Hulda, the only girl of the group who seemed to have any decency about her, smiled at Isobel.

"Don't you think we should go and explore the castle, Isobel? It'd be more fun than sitting around here every night listening to Gade whine on about damsels in distress."

Gade, who had exceptionally sharp ears, pulled a hideous face at Hulda. She pulled one back before returning to Isobel. Isobel had her eyes on Thomas, who was in usual place at her side; he seemed to be watching the twilight sky, but she knew he was listening to every word being said. Hulda continued.

"Our parents would probably be glad to get rid of us for a bit..."

Isobel felt Thomas slump. It might have been better if he hadn't been so quietly perceptive. He knew that his father would certainly be glad to be rid of _him_. Isobel squeezed his hand before answering.

"It might be fun..." she hesitated. She knew her mother would not be pleased; she was expected to do her share of chores in the evening, too. But...wasn't keeping Thomas amused _also_ one of her jobs?

There was no point in trying to conceal what they were talking about any longer. At her hesitant agreement Thomas's ears had practically stood up. He didn't say anything, as was his way, until he was alone with his sister and everyone had reluctantly gone home.

"Are we really going to see the tower at last, Isobel?" He looked a bit confused for a moment. "You've told me the story so many times it feels like you made it up."

Isobel sighed fondly.

"I did make it up, Thomas, sort of. I've never seen the castle for myself, either. It will be a new experience for both of us."

Isobel's memory always seemed to automatically close down on her at that particular moment. It was a memory shadowed with grief and regret, and the knowledge that if she had not taken Thomas with her that following afternoon, if she had not slipped away behind her parents back, that her whole future would have been different.

A single decision in her childhood that had made the snap; who knew such consequences could emerge from something so innocent? Deep down Isobel knew that it was part of the reason she had kept the flower to herself in the end. If she could go back and do enough good things, help more people, she would feel better, perhaps even forgive herself.

But the latter had never happened.

Not even at the last moment.

***Cur – Worst of the litter**

**Lumpish – Unintelligent **

**I have deliberately not said what is 'wrong' with Thomas. I didn't want to label him particularly, but I wanted to highlight medieval/old-fashioned attitudes on such things. (I've been watching too many documentaries xD )**

**Sorry if this chapter is a bit slow or disjointed. I've had a stint of writer's block and was using this to help me get over it, so I hope it's OK. I'm slightly worried about how it's turned out, so I hope it's not too lame. :S  
><strong>

**** This story and all my other current fanfics are on hiatus for the foreseeable future. Unfortunately my real life is so crammed at the moment I just can't find the time in the day to do any writing. I am really sorry about this, and it will teach me not to disobey myself again by posting chapters before I've finished the full product. Thanks to my reviewers, your kind words have meant a lot. I have got other chapters and excerpts written from this fic, so if anyone does want to read them ahead feel free to PM me. :) ****


	3. Note

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story and all my other current fanfics are on hiatus for the foreseeable future. Unfortunately my real life is so crammed at the moment I just can't find the time in the day to do any writing. I am really sorry about this, and it will teach me not to disobey myself again by posting chapters before I've finished the full product. Thanks to all my reviewers, your kind words have meant a lot. :)**

**Suzi**


End file.
